DREAM: A haunting feeling—creeping around in the backyard. It’s a picturesque scene of quiet snow and evergreen trees. A deer. He’s dead. He’s buried underneath an evergreen. The evergreen tree is bare except for a few bulb ornaments. It’s drowning in a muddy puddle. The snow. The snow. It’s cold. There’s something severe going on—the haunting feeling is ever present. Two old ladies come outside to check that the yard has been picked up and looks nice. I assure them, “I took care of it.”
Waking up at 5:30 p.m.
Grabbing Orange Juice to go.
Rushing to get to work at China Wok because they want me there early.
Discovering a few Ingrid Michaelson songs to my liking.
I knew it was probable that I would see you tonight, but I had to call you now.
Me: “I’m having one of those nights….I want to see you….”
Her: “It’s only been a day.”
Me: “I feel like I’m a burden to you or something.”
Her: “No, you’re not a burden.”
Still delivering. My mom tried to call earlier so I call her back. “Mom, it’s like there’s an electromagnetic field surrounding me and it’s making me feel heavy, weak, and empty.” She uses a metaphor to describe Margot and I, “It’s like when you take two corrugated boxes and glue them together. After two years, you separate them and there’s going to be pieces of you with her and pieces of her with you.” So true.
On the interstate heading to the oceanfront to deliver my last order. The luminescent moon, big and orange, hovers over the horizon. The moon always fascinates me.
Waiting at a stoplight, I notice a Hello Kitty sticker on some girl’s car in front of me. As if I wasn’t already thinking of you enough.
Sitting in my room on the computer. Kenneth barges in with a taser gun he found—CLACK CLACK CLACK! I freak out. It’s such a startling sound. “Kenneth, I’m sorry dude. I know you want to show me all this cool stuff you found but I really need to be alone right now.
Making Pizza from scratch—adding peppers, onions, and mushrooms. Chillin with Margot in my room—off and on, expressing more of myself to her—feeling the need to continuously enlighten her on the severity of my state.
Eating two slices—she eats one. Drinking Vitamin Water.
We head to Kroger to get ice cream—she wants SpaghettiO’s too for another time. The scratch cards strike her attention—she gets a $5 one (no luck). In the parking lot, a little grey white cat is brushing up his head against the passenger side window of a green conversion van.
Her: “Aww. Look at himmm. I want a kitty with that face.”
Back home, finishing the movie, Breaking Upwards [2009]. She’s eating her Cookies N Cream Ice Cream. Cuddling up next to each other. This is always nice. Some of the scenes in this film remind me of similar scenarios we had in the past. It ends. I kiss her—she kisses me—caressing her head and face—telling her sweet somethings, not nothings. More begging and pining on my part. “That fire between us…don’t throw that away.”
She informs me that guy Les, who she kissed before Valentine’s Day, isn’t going away for a month anymore because of a car accident where he broke his leg. He’ll be here next week. She was afraid to tell me but keeps trying to convince me that things will be weird with him and she probably won’t see him that much. I know she’s trying to comfort me. After a short while, I kind of flip out in anger and say something sarcastic along the lines of, “Just go ahead. You want to fucking try new things and be with other people. Fine….” Because people get insecure, so what. It’s just the hardest thing for me to imagine her with someone else.
She says something like, “I’m picky, Robert. I’ve always been picky. I’m not gonna be stupid. I’m not going to sleep with someone unless I’m in a relationship. If things were to head in that direction, I’d probably be the one to bring it up with them and say ‘Hey, so what’s going on here?’” She’s always had a smart head on her shoulders despite the times she let her emotions control her.
I walk her out to the car.
Me: “Say something that’ll make me feel better.”
Her: “I love you.”
Ahhh. Your fresh scent covers up the junky smell of this house and overpowers the onion smell in my hands.
Texting………
Me: “Sorry I flipped out a little bit. That wasn’t necessary.”
Her: “No I know you’re feeling insecure about certain things and it’s ok to flip out over them. I don’t blame you. Don’t be sorry.”
Me: “Yeah I’m definitely insecure about it. But I do feel a little better after seeing you. Sleep well.”
Her: “Night baby.”
Eating a bowl of Cherrios with Cinnamon Bunches.
Newspaper route.
This is my contemplation time. Trying to wrap my head around the absence of your romantic behavior. It was the only way I knew you, and the only way you knew me, baby. I know. I know. We’ve already discussed this. I’ve already brought up practically everything relating to the downfall of our relationship. I hope I didn’t misrepresent the beauty of anything for you, even the sex, because that was definitely pure beauty. In my mind, I glorified you. Sex is difficult to give up, but sex with love, even more. You’re adorable by the way, an Indian jewel from a Pocahontas fantasy, and I’m John Smith (coincidentally my last name too). Even though there is no real record of romance between them, I like to think of them as our past lives. Don’t worry, I’m not going to pine over you, but I will leave you in a corner of my heart just in case—missing you always.
Listening to some old Coldplay songs on the stereo. A short classical instrumental comes on. For some reason, tears build up in my eyes. I can’t contain the intense effect the piano has on me. I haven’t really been playing it recently. It always calls to me like a long lost lover. Feeling an inspiration to be productive and really crack down on music making and recording.
Eating an Scrambled Egg Sandwich on an English Muffin. Honey Oolong Tea.
My appetite is regaining access to the brain.
Engaging on the ivory keys at the storage unit. Unearthing old material. Writing.
Goldfish.
Sleep 10:15 a.m.
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